


Cards On the Table

by PuppiesRainbowsSadism



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 08:16:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4341011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuppiesRainbowsSadism/pseuds/PuppiesRainbowsSadism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sam knows things like this are supposed to be gradual -- there are culturally appropriate steps to be followed -- but really, nothing about this has ever been gradual. Or culturally appropriate, for that matter."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cards On the Table

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt for citrusjava: "Wincest pining+first time (first conversation about romance between them, or kiss, or sex, or D/s - just first), with the whole desperation, being outside of society and knowing that's going to keep them there, the sort of 'I love you more than I'm terrified of doing this' drive?"
> 
> Title from "All of Me": Cards on the table, we're both showing hearts/Risking it all, though it's hard

Sam knows these things typically happen slowly. He knows that strangers become friends, friends become best friends, best friends become lovers. If things progress quickly, strangers might stumble into lovers first, but that’s a hit or miss in most cases. Even Jess was Sam’s friend before she was anything else. That’s how it works, at least according to everything Sam knows.

But the truth is, Sam can’t remember a time when he didn’t love Dean. It’s the most intense thing he’s ever felt, encompassing his entire being, as if every cell of his is attracted to every cell of Dean’s. (He tells himself that’s dramatic. It doesn’t make it feel any less true.) Sam remembers being young, certainly, but he can’t recall the feeling of being . . . the only word that comes to mind is unattached.

So yes, Sam knows things like this are supposed to be gradual -- there are culturally appropriate steps to be followed -- but really, nothing about this has ever been gradual. Or culturally appropriate, for that matter.

And that’s the whole point, isn’t it? That’s why Dean’s first instinct when things heat up is to pin Sam forcefully to the nearest wall. Then he blinks, and backs up, and just looks at Sam. Dean looks scared and tired, but he also looks hopeful and determined. Sam can relate; he’s just as tired of being scared.

“You gotta tell me you want this, Sam,” Dean whispers, calm, and yet, somehow desperate. “Tell me I’m not reading this wrong.”

Because I can’t go back to pretending, Sam thinks. He has a feeling Dean is thinking it too. If you decide this is a mistake, I can’t go back to being afraid and guilty. It’s all or nothing.

Sam steps forward, planning on kissing away the frown on Dean’s lips, but Dean takes a step back to keep the space between them.

“I have to hear it,” he says, clearer this time. Dean’s prefered language has always been nonverbal. It figures that the one time Sam wants to speak with actions, Dean needs words.

“I want this,” Sam declares confidently. I’ve wanted this for longer than I can remember.

“Really.”

Sam almost rolls his eyes. “Yes, really. Dean, if you don’t kiss me right now -- “

It’s softer than Sam expects. He has (regrettably) seen Dean with women, and he’s never this careful, this tender. Dean’s hands come up as if to cup Sam’s face, but they just kind of hover, barely touching him. The kiss can barely be called a kiss, just a gentle press of lips.

But God is it good.

Every cell of Sam’s that’s attracted to every cell of Dean’s just floods with relief, and the tense atmosphere is lost when Dean pulls back and Sam giggles.

Dean blinks, obviously offended. “What’s so funny?”

“You call that a kiss?” Sam can’t stop smiling, and soon Dean’s wearing a face-splitting grin too.

“Shut up. I was trying to go slow.”

“Jeez, at that rate, I’m not even getting tongue from you for months.”

Dean pulls Sam closer by his belt loops, winding one hand in Sam’s hair while he pillages Sam’s mouth. That’s such a stupid word to use here -- pillages -- but it’s accurate, because the kiss is messy and gross and chock full of tongue and spit. Sam shoves Dean away, and he stumbles back. They’re both still grinning.

“How’s that for tongue, bitch?”

“Jerk,” Sam laughs. He thinks they should be more serious, more concerned about what this means for them.

But they’re just so tired of being scared.

 


End file.
